Closure

I met with my boss for 30 minutes yesterday. I confessed a difficulty in coming to closure on projects. I evaluated 831 e-books for purchase, and stopped working with only 57 yet to go. I interviewed three people but delayed scheduling the one remaining interviewee. My work seemed meaningless, but I kept that part to myself.

A new textbook was on the table. My boss's name was on the cover. She told me she was surprised at the amount of editing that an author was required to do.

Then she told me about a new ranking of published academic accountants. She was shocked to discover that she was #11, and she wasn't even born when they started keeping score.

Her day job is leading the business faculty at an elite university. She also teaches MBA students in the global institute.

I count the hours at work until I come home to garden for wildlife. I am called to fill the birdfeeders and refresh the water in the birdbaths. I cannot resist the urge to create a 100 cu ft compost heap. I feel compelled to install a rain garden this spring.


Books and journal articles last forever. My wildlife garden will only last only as long as someone cares for it. A homeowner with weedwacker and mower can end it all in an afternoon. The food and water and shelter, and the birds and butterflies and bees that depend on those, will decline.


That is the heartbreak. In the end, it will all end with me.

And yet he keeps calling. Sometimes I ask him to wait, but he keeps calling.

Waiting

In winter, I wait.

During the workday, I wait to go home in the evening, although by that hour, it is too dark to walk my garden.

During the workweek, I wait for the weekend, knowing that it may be too wet to work outoors.

During the months of winter, I wait for spring.

The garden awakened after a soft rain on Wednesday. Roses were dripping with diamonds. Daffodils mingled in the crowd.

Blue foliage of native honeysuckle looked fuzzy with new growth.

Pine siskins crowded the thistle feeder.

In late February, normal temperatures stay above freezing. Time for nature to wake from her rest.

February

In February, frigid days can be followed by balmy ones within the same week.

One night last week, temperatures dipped into the single digits and remained near freezing for several days. Rainwater from the roof that was stored in a yardwaste container froze into a solid block. How long does it take a two foot cube of ice to melt in 68 degree weather? Just 24 hours.

Insects are in short supply by mid-winter. Some critter has clawed away much of the bark and woody layers of this oak stump, looking for a meal.

These daffodils are the first to bloom this year. My daughter's guinea pigs look interested. Careful, girls. Daffodils are poisonous.

Midwinter

Once you traveled the world,
Lived in a tent in Africa,
Worked on a farm in New Zealand,
Bicycled through Eastern Europe.

Once you owned little and knew people who owned less.

Now you have come to Canaan. Your feet are firmly planted. From your soles have sprouted a garden, a home, children, chicks and calves.

Of eight sisters, you alone have a winter birthday.

In the chill of midwinter, you sense a promise of new life.